Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One (49 page)

Pat stared out at the white gazebo in her garden and watched as the afternoon sun retreated from it, leaving it in shadow. Suddenly, multi-colored lights came on, covering the entire structure with holiday excitement. She smiled. Angelica had been busy while she was gone. But any celebration seemed empty without Blaise. How had she let this happen?

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, hadn’t you?” Delia asked wisely. Her tone indicated that she did not believe Pat.

Pat turned around. “It’s not what you think,” she said, looking fondly at the leathery, wrinkled old face with its sunken cheeks. Delia had gone through a lot in her day and she hated to make her suffer. Her mind searched for a way to retreat verbally.

“I might be old, Pat, but I’m not an old fool. I can still see. You perk up like a schoolgirl every time he comes into the room. And him, he’s a proud one, that boy. He knows what he looks like, knows what the ladies think when they see him—“

“Yes, I know,” Pat murmured in a voice that was tinged with sadness.

“—but I’ve only seen that special light in his eyes when he looks at you once before,” Delia concluded, not letting Pat interrupt.

Pat suddenly came to attention. “What?” she asked. “When?”

“He had it that time I found the two of you out on the terrace the night of your engagement party,” Delia said, nodding knowingly.

“He’s seen a lot of women since then, most of them away from your eyes,” Pat said patiently, not allowing herself to take any stock in what Delia was telling her. She wouldn’t have her hopes raised just to have them dashed to pieces in the end.

Delia shrugged. “He hasn’t been married once, has he?” she pointed out, peering at Pat’s face.

“He’s probably having too much fun to say ‘I do.’ “ Pat countered.

Delia shook her head. “Have it your way. But someday,” she said, wagging a bony finger at her, “you’ll stop and see I was right.”

Pat merely smiled at the old woman, thinking how many other old people said things like that every day, hoping to have events bear them out. But no, not this time. Blaise Hamilton was too much the worldly gentleman, too much the ladies’ man. He had everything to lose and nothing to gain by losing his heart to one Patrissa Hamilton— if he even had a heart to lose, which she was beginning to doubt.

Delia was right on one score, though. Blaise had not been married, never even engaged as far as she knew. That seemed rather odd for a man of his age and with his vast appeal to women—and his vast talents around women. She would have bet that more than one woman had tried in earnest to snare him. Perhaps his love, his real love, was wheeling and dealing. He did seem to thrive on it.

Perhaps Blaise really had no heart to give.

So why did her own ache so at the very thought?

Chapter Eleven

Blaise did not return until very, very late that night. Although Pat had become a rather direct person in the past year, she was too afraid to confront him with her feelings. An outright rejection would ruin her, she felt, and there was a lot of work to be done.

She went to the office early Saturday morning and stayed there, doing what she could, burying herself in reports and the slow process of rectifying each error that rose its menacing head within the body of the Eagle.

“When I said your presence added to the workers’ enthusiasm for the project, I didn’t mean for you to sleep with the drawing board and the components,” Sam said on Sunday morning, when he discovered her at her desk.

Pat looked up at him with tired eyes. She had spent the night on the couch, not wanting to go home. Silly, wasn’t it? A grown woman hiding out. Blaise, though, did not seem even to care that she was missing. He hadn’t called the office, hadn’t come. With the prospect of victory so close at hand, she felt strangely hollow inside. When she had called home late last night, it was Angelica who had answered, not a worried Blaise. He was probably sleeping peacefully in some woman’s arms, she thought ruefully. What a fool she was for aching this way. When Angelica arrived with her change of clothing, she was going to pull herself together and show Blaise Hamilton that although she was grateful for any so-called help he had given her, her life did not begin and end in his arms. Even though it did.

“I thought I should give my undivided attention to this,” Pat lied, pointing to the latest report that had crossed her desk.

Sam nodded, but she could see that he didn’t believe her. “What you need is a little diversion,” he said. “My people are having their annual Shalako ceremony next weekend. Why don’t you go see it? You said you enjoyed yourself the last time.”

The last time had been just after Roger had died and Sam had taken her to get her mind away from that. Preparations for the feast took some forty-nine days, and the departure of the Shalako, or giant messengers of the rain gods, signaled an end to a season. Somehow, it seemed fitting. She looked up at Sam and nodded.

“Okay, we’ll see.”

Sam did not press her any further, leaving Pat to stare at the reports and hope that Angelica would come soon. She knew that beneath her white lab coat she was a rumpled mess—at least that was the way she felt.

Within a few minutes the door opened again. Strange that Angelica would come in without knocking, Pat thought as she turned her swivel chair away from the window and toward the door, fully expecting to see her housekeeper carrying the clothes she had requested.

“I thought it was about time you stopped hiding out and came home.”

Pat was startled to hear Blaise’s deep voice. One look at him showed her that he had lost no sleep over anything. He looked well and rested—perfect, as always. He even sported that ever-present mischievous glint in his eye. Well, this time it wasn’t going to work!

“I have a lot of work to do,” she said, her mouth drawing back tightly.

“All work and no play ...” Blaise began, then let his voice trail off as he stood back and studied her.

He could see right through her, she knew, and it annoyed her desperately. “I’ve been playing much too much of late,” she said sharply, pretending to read a report.

Blaise came around, putting himself between her and her desk, blocking out the report and anything else that was there. “And it’s been wonderful—or have I suddenly turned into a poor judge of character?” he asked.

“I don’t know about you, but I certainly have,” she said, drawing on inner courage that she didn’t think she had. She had to confront him with her anger. She had to.

“What’s on your mind, Patti?” he asked in a voice that was tender and low. His eyes spoke to her, saying soft things that she couldn’t bear to feel right now.

“Don’t call me Patti,” she snapped, trying to cut into the power he seemed to have over her.

“All right, Mrs. Hamilton,” he said, crossing his arms in front of him, “although it’s a little silly to revert back to that state since I’m probably one of the few people, besides your doctor, who knows where your birthmark is,” he concluded, his eyes dancing. “But all right, all right,” he said hurriedly, holding up his hands to fend off her words. “What’s bothering you?”

“You are!” she snapped, getting up and walking away from him.

He seemed to consider that for a moment. “That’s never been a problem before,” he said wickedly.

“Your insensitivity is,” she said angrily.
Why did he disarm her at every turn?
her soul cried.

He did not lose his good humor, although his eyes grew a little darker as they narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“You know very well what I’m talking about!”

“I need more of a hint than that, Mrs. Hamilton. If I knew what you were talking about, I wouldn’t be asking. Now in plain English, without any code words—out with it!” he commanded, and she saw how he could take charge of a large assembly or any situation he found himself in. There was something dynamically compelling about him, even as the cloud of pain around her threatened to burst.

“Blaise, where did you go after the trial?” she queried, desperately fighting the impulse to melt into his arms. But she knew that this inevitable confrontation would be even more difficult in the future if she pushed her anger aside.

His expression was placid, though Pat noticed his eyes deepen from cerulean blue to cool violet. “I was with the Hamiltons. You saw me leave with Jonathan and Allen.” Not impish or tender now, his soft tone sent a chill through Pat’s heart. She forced herself to press on.

“You said you didn’t get along with them.”

“I don’t,” he said, his eyes watching her every movement. “They’re a bunch of snobbish, insensitive, air-headed, empty-hearted people.”

“So what on earth were you talking to them about?” she demanded. “And why didn’t you say anything about where you were going?” Pat gathered up every ounce of courage in her being and plunged forward. “I hope you remember that there is more between us than there is between most business acquaintances. I wanted to share the joy and relief of winning the court battle with you. Clearly, you find the company of a bunch of snobbish and empty-hearted and whatever-else people preferable to mine. I’m not even worth a phone call in your estimation. Now you can’t seem to figure out why I’m upset. Well, I’m beginning to think that you are everything the rest of the Hamiltons are.” She concluded with a great deal more bitterness than she had intended.

Understanding and sympathy emanated from Blaise as he leaned ever so slightly toward her. “You might have given me an opportunity to explain before you started playing hide-and-go-seek.”

“I’m giving you one now,” she said, swallowing hard.

“Jonathan tried to buy me,” he said simply.

“Just as I thought,” she replied, waiting.

“I tried to talk him and Aunt Rose into pulling out gracefully and not contesting the decision. I tried to talk them into either backing you or at least healing the rift. I knew how much it bothered you to be the Lone Ranger in this setup. I hated every minute I spent talking to those people. I’ve dealt with friendlier enemies of the government in my time. The worst-mannered nomad is at bottom kinder than they are. You have no need of them in your life anymore.”

“And I’m sorry about not telling you where I was. Jonathan cornered me right after the trial, and our discussion absorbed me so thoroughly, I wasn’t even aware of how much time had gone by.”

Pat felt terrible. She had let her anger fester and grow out of proportion while Blaise once again had donned his armor and fought on her behalf. “Blaise?” she said, feeling embarrassed.

“Yes?”

“I have been rash, and I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” he said, but this time there was a tiny hint of a smile in his voice.

“Will you stay?” she asked.

“No.”

Her heart dropped. She deserved this. The only man who had come to her aid and bucked everything to help her and she hadn’t trusted him.

“But you can come with me,” he added. “I’m only going back to the house.” His eyes were shining again. “My bed’s gotten cold.”

“Why, you . . . !” But her voice trailed off as a lightness came back to her soul. The tightness in her chest was gone.

“Even God rested on Sunday, and He had a little more to take care of than the Eagle,” Blaise said, taking her hand.

Pat offered no protest as she went with him.

“Have you stayed here the entire time?” he asked as they went to his car. She nodded. “Okay, I’ll help you shower,” he promised.

A tingle went through Pat’s body at the promise of things to come.

Pat took Sam up on his offer. The Eagle was still very, very important to her, but she realized now that undoubtedly, upon its completion, Blaise would move on to something else. She tried to put her sadness aside and enjoy their remaining days together. She wouldn’t repeat Roger’s mistake. He had lived his life entirely at the plant, and had missed out on much of life’s beauty. Well, after Blaise left, there would be all the time in the world to be in her office.

They took the weekend off and drove through the desert, armed with Sam’s directions. They looked in awe at nature’s handiwork, such as Venus’s Needle, stretching up toward the sky northwest of Gallup. The temperature that day was brisk but not cold, certainly not the way it had been in Ottawa. As they drove to the Zuni Pueblo, Pat thought how much she would have liked to be on a bearskin rug somewhere, stretched out by a warm cabin fire, with only Blaise to take the chill from her body. Someday, she thought— but she knew that someday would not be. This was all she had, the present.

The festival at the Zuni Pueblo was spectacular, and Pat and Blaise lost themselves, pretending to be tourists and enjoying all the “firsts” that native dwellers always seem to miss. The ceremonies began that evening at sundown, when the messengers of the rain gods were received and conducted through the new homes that were dedicated to them. The dancing and feasting that were held in honor of the Shalako continued through the night and into the next evening, when the ceremony was over and the Pueblo was closed to visitors until after the winter solstice.

The swirling colors of the Zunis’ costumes made Pat think of the colors that emerged in her head each time Blaise made love to her, and the smile she wore through the ceremonial dancing was not lost on him.

Nothing was lost on Blaise. He seemed to be everywhere in the next few days, supporting her both at work and at home, where he arrived before her and had candlelit dinners waiting. These were followed by nights of ecstasy. Despite the rift with her children, despite the fantastic pressures at work in trying to meet the deadline, Pat had never been happier in her life.

Time slipped away, and suddenly it was only a week from the deadline and they were far from prepared. Many of the employees had given up their Christmas, a time when the plant was normally closed, to work around the clock on the Eagle. But Blaise had insisted, as had Sam, that Pat spend Christmas Eve at home with a few friends.

“You’ve been driving yourself relentlessly,” Blaise said, picking Pat up early at work and bringing her home, “and you look tired.”

“Could be due to the fact that I’m not getting any sleep at night,” she said with a smile.